Since Paul, my brother is a new member of the NZ police force, we've had quite a number of police jokes and funny incidents being reported after each shift. One that Dad had read in the paper took my fancy:
A cop was driving home and decided to perform one last routine driver's licence check. He flashed his lights at the car in front at which the car sped up. The cop turned on his sirens and pursued the car which eventually pulled over. The cop walked up to the driver's window and told him that he was only pulling him over for a routine licence check but now he was required to complete a bunch of paperwork for the additional charge of avoidance of a police officer. The cop advised that he didn't really want to do that as he was nearly finished for the night so suggested the guy provide a decent excuse for his behaviour. The guy responded that he'd only kept driving because his wife had run off with a cop a week earlier and he'd thought they were bringing her back!
You may be interested to know that Paul caught his first burglar last week. He'd been notified of a recent burglary so was cruising the area when he came across a fairly suspicious looking man. Paul said "Whaddya up to?" in that casual police-way and the guy responded "Doing something I shouldn't". Hmm, perhaps he should have been shopping for a poker face. It gets worse. Once they took the guy into the station, he asked if he would be released sooner if he told them that he'd done it. Score for Paul!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Tattooed Me
I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for quite a long time. I always planned on the design being based on one of my favourite parts of rongopai, pr 3, 5 and 6. Last year when I was thinking again about it, I decided that having a visible tattoo was more of a public declaration than a visual reminder for me. I like the idea of people seeing it and wanting to know what it means, giving me an opportunity to explain things that are important to me in a non-confronting way.
I had an idea of the design earlier this year and shared my plans with a friend who is of Greek parentage and speaks the language. Since the phrase I chose (part of ro 4 17) is from the Greek portion of rongopai, I decided to tattoo it in Greek once I’d confirmed that it did mean what I thought it meant. I think that having it in Greek makes the phrase a little less confronting for those of other beliefs (at least those who can’t read Greek!), and as I suggested, seems to encourage people to ask the meaning. Re 19 says Tama has a tattoo on his thigh. Does anyone know what language?
When it came to the design, I liked the idea of including something to identify my nationality. I’ve spent a third of my life overseas but I’m kiwi by birth and I hope, kiwi by nature. While not Maori (see earlier post!), there are symbols in Maori art that reflect NZ nature, and one that I like is the koru. Koru is the Maori word used for the unfurling fern frond commonly seen in NZ bush. It symbolises new life (physical and spiritual), growth, strength and peace. I liked the fit with the phrase as it points towards some of the key aspects of rongopai, particularly new life.
So I did a bit of basic research on the web and via word-of-mouth to find out who was who in the Wellington world of tattoo. There were two places that seemed to have the best reputations, one particularly for an artist, but they were booked out for the next few months. I visited the other place and chatted with an artist, Dee about my goal. He took some money for me and agreed to draw up a few designs for me to consider. Well, I walked in that day thinking about a design the size of tennis ball, and all in the standard ink colour. The designs he came up with were MUCH bigger and very colourful, and of course a lot more expensive, but they captured me instantly. I chose one, and we started last Friday. He spent 2.5h on the koru portion of the image. Because of the intricacy of the lettering and my insistence that it was the most important part, he wanted to do it on a separate occasion when neither of us is fatigued. So, I have an estimated 3h of needling to go this Thursday.
Getting a tattoo is painful but from all accounts (and I’ve heard quite a few recently), it feels different to everyone, and we all have a different pain threshold and emotional response. Some people swear, some grit their teeth, others cry and still others pass out. I was told the trick to avoid that one was to eat junk food and drink coke. So I did. The fastest I’ve chewed a Whittaker’s almond slab ever. The outline feels sort of like a cat scratch – quite painful enough to be mad at the cat but it’s forgotten by the time the cat snuggles. The problem is that the cat keeps scratching. Over and over. Fortunately not in the same spot, so it’s bearable. Dee then told me that he was going to start colouring in. He said that it would be less painful even possibly soothing in comparison. Relief! Ah, no. It was SO much more painful. How could anyone possibly find 15 needles stabbing at once less painful than 1?? It was the sort of pain that I had to laugh at (in a high-pitched breathy sort of way) or I would have ripped my leg out of his grip. Particularly painful around the softer fleshy parts too, which I thought beforehand would be less painful……just goes to show that there is no rules. Everyone’s different.
Postscript. The second part of this tattoo was very very very painful. Much more so than the first day. For future reference, if you ever get a tattoo, arrange it so you get it all done at once. Tattooing over tattooed tissue feels like someone is slicing your already tender flesh open with a scalpel.
Comments welcome :)
Debriefing
I’ve always been reluctant to record things about my work in writing due to the risk of identifying patients or clients, and also because most people don’t want to hear it due to the sadness associated with the type of work I do. I’ve noticed that when health professionals of any sort get together, they seem to speak about work far more than any other occupation. I enjoy those conversations but have also been privy to friends of other professions complaining about either the gruesomeness of the talk, or a lack of understanding about why anyone would want to talk about work outside of work, especially when it excludes others trying to participate in a social event (!)
I spoke to a friend and workmate from Melbourne last night and it made me yearn for my job there. An unexpected response considering how much my enjoyment of the job varied. It’s fairly easy to say that I loved the type of work, and mostly enjoyed the day-day activity, especially when I felt like I or ‘we’ as a team had made a difference for someone. Not so enjoyable when people are hurt, angry, frustrated, abusing me or blaming me personally for rules my employer or the government instigated, or the occasional times when I felt unsupported by my employer in what was a fairly autonomous role.
Talking about work with colleagues is enormously important when working in the health profession – particularly in those environments where interaction with clients is ongoing and/or traumatic events occur. In case management and nursing where I’ve worked, there are terms that float around like ‘supervision’ and ‘debriefing’ and ‘reflection’ that can all refer to formal or informal conversations about work situations. They give professionals an opportunity to discuss events, emotions, conversations, expectations, abuse, praise, grief and frustration. I know some of those terms may seem to fit into the broader-meaning words I’ve included, but I purposefully separated them.
My frustration was frequent while working for an insurance scheme. Believing someone ought to be entitled to something but being unable to provide it / pay for it due to policy or legislation was difficult. It wasn’t simply because the client was frustrated or angry at me for saying No, but because I often genuinely agreed with them that the item / service should be provided. The line that I crossed telling the client or family that I personally agreed with them that the decision was unfair was a fine one. It can be viewed as disloyalty to my employer. It’s can also open a door for a discussion with the family in which I’m expected to justify the employer or governments’ stance. Or I hope that it can it be seen as empathy towards a person’s situation and honesty from an employee without disobeying the rules.
Sometimes I tried to ease my frustration by noting that there were far more unreasonable requests and expectations than reasonable ones we had to deny, but I couldn’t honestly compare them. The reasons for what I felt were unreasonable requests varied. Sometimes clients had a sense of entitlement to more than could be provided under legislation, for example, expecting that everything they ever needed would be paid for irrespective of whether they would have paid for it if they hadn’t had an accident. Sometimes a request seemed to be a means to vent anger and frustration at their circumstances. Sometimes it reflected financial hardship of the client or family. Occasionally requests reflected the encouragement of a professional who didn’t know the policies governing such decisions. Some families would request things that they knew should be denied with a glimmer of hope that it might be received by someone who didn’t know the rules. Sometimes requests were ridiculous.
My frustration as a professional is not at all comparable with the ongoing frustration and grief suffered by those who have an illness or injury that prevents them from maintaining their usual lifestyle. Loss of or changes in ability, independence, communication, mobility, skill, relationship, cognition, emotions, employment, self-esteem, appearance and respect can all be outcomes of accident injuries. Some changes are temporary and others permanent. Others improve or deteriorate over time. The vulnerability of not knowing if or how something might improve can be excruciating. Minor improvements can mean a lot but sometimes lead to hope that is never fulfilled.
I’m working with a man who has a brain injury. He lives with his parents and requires 24h care. For the first 18 months after the injury, he could only move his big toe. That big toe movement was incredibly important as he could communicate yes or no responses. A number of years later, he can now walk with a lot of assistance. His ability to communicate, even yes or no, is inconsistent. The injuries and disability affect his family enormously. They’re responsible for all of his care, for decisions about his health, for staying awake overnight when there’s no staff, for maintaining their family unit including the other children during all highs and lows, for juggling the 24h staff rosters and filling in when there’s none, for maintaining financial stability despite the necessary cessation or reduction in employment and the inevitable additional expenses.
His parents are hopeful of recovery. I think that they genuinely believe he will speak clearly and consistently again, that he’ll walk independently and that he’ll live the life they expected him to. With ongoing small improvements, how do you know when his current status might be as able as he gets? At what point should one be concerned about the hope that the parents hold onto so tightly, especially if the hope is the only thing keeping them going in such a changed world?
I spoke to a friend and workmate from Melbourne last night and it made me yearn for my job there. An unexpected response considering how much my enjoyment of the job varied. It’s fairly easy to say that I loved the type of work, and mostly enjoyed the day-day activity, especially when I felt like I or ‘we’ as a team had made a difference for someone. Not so enjoyable when people are hurt, angry, frustrated, abusing me or blaming me personally for rules my employer or the government instigated, or the occasional times when I felt unsupported by my employer in what was a fairly autonomous role.
Talking about work with colleagues is enormously important when working in the health profession – particularly in those environments where interaction with clients is ongoing and/or traumatic events occur. In case management and nursing where I’ve worked, there are terms that float around like ‘supervision’ and ‘debriefing’ and ‘reflection’ that can all refer to formal or informal conversations about work situations. They give professionals an opportunity to discuss events, emotions, conversations, expectations, abuse, praise, grief and frustration. I know some of those terms may seem to fit into the broader-meaning words I’ve included, but I purposefully separated them.
My frustration was frequent while working for an insurance scheme. Believing someone ought to be entitled to something but being unable to provide it / pay for it due to policy or legislation was difficult. It wasn’t simply because the client was frustrated or angry at me for saying No, but because I often genuinely agreed with them that the item / service should be provided. The line that I crossed telling the client or family that I personally agreed with them that the decision was unfair was a fine one. It can be viewed as disloyalty to my employer. It’s can also open a door for a discussion with the family in which I’m expected to justify the employer or governments’ stance. Or I hope that it can it be seen as empathy towards a person’s situation and honesty from an employee without disobeying the rules.
Sometimes I tried to ease my frustration by noting that there were far more unreasonable requests and expectations than reasonable ones we had to deny, but I couldn’t honestly compare them. The reasons for what I felt were unreasonable requests varied. Sometimes clients had a sense of entitlement to more than could be provided under legislation, for example, expecting that everything they ever needed would be paid for irrespective of whether they would have paid for it if they hadn’t had an accident. Sometimes a request seemed to be a means to vent anger and frustration at their circumstances. Sometimes it reflected financial hardship of the client or family. Occasionally requests reflected the encouragement of a professional who didn’t know the policies governing such decisions. Some families would request things that they knew should be denied with a glimmer of hope that it might be received by someone who didn’t know the rules. Sometimes requests were ridiculous.
My frustration as a professional is not at all comparable with the ongoing frustration and grief suffered by those who have an illness or injury that prevents them from maintaining their usual lifestyle. Loss of or changes in ability, independence, communication, mobility, skill, relationship, cognition, emotions, employment, self-esteem, appearance and respect can all be outcomes of accident injuries. Some changes are temporary and others permanent. Others improve or deteriorate over time. The vulnerability of not knowing if or how something might improve can be excruciating. Minor improvements can mean a lot but sometimes lead to hope that is never fulfilled.
I’m working with a man who has a brain injury. He lives with his parents and requires 24h care. For the first 18 months after the injury, he could only move his big toe. That big toe movement was incredibly important as he could communicate yes or no responses. A number of years later, he can now walk with a lot of assistance. His ability to communicate, even yes or no, is inconsistent. The injuries and disability affect his family enormously. They’re responsible for all of his care, for decisions about his health, for staying awake overnight when there’s no staff, for maintaining their family unit including the other children during all highs and lows, for juggling the 24h staff rosters and filling in when there’s none, for maintaining financial stability despite the necessary cessation or reduction in employment and the inevitable additional expenses.
His parents are hopeful of recovery. I think that they genuinely believe he will speak clearly and consistently again, that he’ll walk independently and that he’ll live the life they expected him to. With ongoing small improvements, how do you know when his current status might be as able as he gets? At what point should one be concerned about the hope that the parents hold onto so tightly, especially if the hope is the only thing keeping them going in such a changed world?
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Age-forced changes Pt 2
Dad’s Mum is an artist (predominantly a printmaker) and Grandpa worked as a weed scientist (title: plant ecologist according to Dad). That Grandpa is still alive is quite remarkable. He has had long-term cardiac complications, had quadruple bypass surgery 15y ago and has had so many small heart attacks in the past 3y that I’ve lost count. Yet, just like the energizer bunny (with a little less bounce) and to my delight, he keeps going. They surprised me a few years ago by attending local computer classes, investing in a PC and a webcam, so I’ve been able to keep in touch regularly via skype.
Like my Mum’s parents, age is slowly catching up with Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa has slowed down and rests a lot more than he used to. Grandma spends a lot of time supporting and caring for Grandpa and doesn’t like leaving him alone. She’s still doing a little bit of artwork but it’s fairly limited these days. I love Grandma’s art, which is fortunate because my parents’ walls are covered in it and Mum mentioned recently that there are another 40 prints to be framed! I’ve been very fortunate to receive gifts of a few of my favourites for special events and there’s something very cool about telling people that a particular item was printed by my grandmother.
Grandma and I visited the Dunedin butterfly house. It was wonderful. Over 400 varieties of butterfly in a humid 28° environment. The prettiest was a gorgeous blue creature (pictured) that was large, seemingly quite aware of it’s beauty and happy to parade.
I also visited the Dunedin Chinese Gardens. It’s an example of a late Ming, early Ching Dynasty Scholar's Garden. It was in the Scholar's Garden part of the compound where guests and important visitors were received and entertained, and where the Scholar himself (a highly regarded member of Chinese society) lived and worked. The rocks, water plants and buildings are important, symbolic, elements.
The Dunedin Chinese Garden uses authentic Chinese materials crafted by a team of artisans/craftsmen for Dunedin's sister city of Shanghai. In addition to the hand-made wooden buildings, the Garden features hand-made tiles, bricks and lattice-work and hand-finished granite paving stones all imported from Shanghai. Very impressive, and lovely to be able to visit with Grandpa who outperformed physical expectations.
Like my Mum’s parents, age is slowly catching up with Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa has slowed down and rests a lot more than he used to. Grandma spends a lot of time supporting and caring for Grandpa and doesn’t like leaving him alone. She’s still doing a little bit of artwork but it’s fairly limited these days. I love Grandma’s art, which is fortunate because my parents’ walls are covered in it and Mum mentioned recently that there are another 40 prints to be framed! I’ve been very fortunate to receive gifts of a few of my favourites for special events and there’s something very cool about telling people that a particular item was printed by my grandmother.
Grandma and I visited the Dunedin butterfly house. It was wonderful. Over 400 varieties of butterfly in a humid 28° environment. The prettiest was a gorgeous blue creature (pictured) that was large, seemingly quite aware of it’s beauty and happy to parade.
I also visited the Dunedin Chinese Gardens. It’s an example of a late Ming, early Ching Dynasty Scholar's Garden. It was in the Scholar's Garden part of the compound where guests and important visitors were received and entertained, and where the Scholar himself (a highly regarded member of Chinese society) lived and worked. The rocks, water plants and buildings are important, symbolic, elements.
The Dunedin Chinese Garden uses authentic Chinese materials crafted by a team of artisans/craftsmen for Dunedin's sister city of Shanghai. In addition to the hand-made wooden buildings, the Garden features hand-made tiles, bricks and lattice-work and hand-finished granite paving stones all imported from Shanghai. Very impressive, and lovely to be able to visit with Grandpa who outperformed physical expectations.
Age-forced changes, part 1.
One of the reasons I insisted on departing from NZ to Doo was to have the time to visit my grandparents. I’m incredibly blessed to still have all four. They live in the same city where I was born and studied at university, Dunedin. Being uncertain about how long I’d have before my visa arrives, I headed south in my first week back.
My grandparents are collectively and individually delightful. My university mates knew them as the ‘supermarket grandparents, and the ‘artist’ or affectionately, the ‘snobby’ grandparents. What a treasure to have lived in Dunedin during my uni days, getting to know my grandparents as an adult.
Mum’s parents owned the local Four Square in Mornington when I was born and when large chain supermarkets began to open in Dunedin in the mid 80s, they moved to work at New World. Grandad was a stock-man with a great attention for detail. Mum told me recently that even as his memory was deteriorating and long after he retired, he would straighten up cans on the shelves when grocery shopping. Nana was a checkout chick, and guess what? I got to be a checkout chick with her! When I was studying at university, I worked part-time at New World with her. Awesome. She knew all the permanent staff so I automatically had friends in high places when it came to the best aisle to work in……although writing that reminds me of the time when I visited her at work when I was 12 and one of the staff commented on how handsome her grandson was. Hmm.
Grandad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in the mid 90s and it was a very slow deterioration until about 2y ago. He deteriorated rapidly since then and has moved to a secure dementia home since I last visited Dunedin. Working in the health sector has exposed me to various medical and mental illnesses, the ageing process, death and many types of trauma. Everyone that works in a health or criminal area develops a way of coping with witnessing the grief and trauma of families that are not their own. I’ve known for a while that my reaction to health or emotional issues within my extended family isn’t the same as that of my family members, and it’s very easy for me to care as a professional, but not so easy to put on the family-member hat. I don’t feel as if I’m blocking the issues or disassociating from them, but I seem to limit my emotional reaction to some things that affect others dramatically.
For example, I knew that Grandad had deteriorated in his cognitive and physical function, and I expected that he would probably not recognise me. Mum and other family members warned me a number of times and were concerned about how I would cope with the shock of this change. Grandad was sound asleep when Nana and I arrived to visit at 11am. He sat in a chair in a large room with 15 others in various states of consciousness listening to golden oldies tunes on the radio. It was a warm sunny day and Nana and I spent approximately 25 minutes trying to waken him by whispering, talking, squeezing his knee (softly and then not so softly). I did manage to wake the gentleman sitting next to him so I took the opportunity to ask how I could wake Grandad. “Ask him if he wants a cuppa” was the directive. I did so, and Grandad, with his head lolled back, eyes firmly shut and mouth wide open shook his head. Trying to suppress a snorty giggle, I asked if he’d like a drink of water and he nodded, ever so slightly. I manage to dribble some water into Grandad’s mouth which he swallowed, grimaced and then looked like he was beginning to waken. Eyes still firmly closed, I asked if he could open them. The left one opened first. I couldn’t suppress my giggle this time, and he slowly opened the other. Grandad didn’t recognise me, but he made a delightful effort at nodding and making appropriate sounds when I reminded him who I was. Nana and I managed to sneak some photos with him, but he wasn’t very keen on smiling, even when I reminded him how. Such a change from the jovial gentleman I last saw 18 months ago, but still such a joy to visit with him.
Nana has been living at home on her own for the past 10 months or so. What a tragedy it is that most elderly married couples experience separation of life, and some, separation of accommodation after so many years living together. Nana fell and broke her hip a month before I arrived in Dunedin and was still recovering at my Aunt’s. Still grieving over the changes in her living situation, she’s now lost her physical independence albeit temporarily, and needs to make decisions about her long-term accommodation. A decision that she’s unequipped for and not ready to make. These are difficult decisions for her, and also terribly hard for my Mum and her two sisters who are all closely involved in supporting her. My Aunt and Uncle are doing an amazing job of caring for her in their home temporarily, but being so involved makes it difficult for them to assist her with the big decisions too. Everyone has concerns about not doing enough to assist or saying something that is hurtful or making a decision that affects others. All the while, they’re all still grieving the age-forced changes.
My professional hat comes on and without knowing the NZ system well, I can see that there are a number of options available and they each need to be discussed, trialled if possible, and the best one chosen by Nana. It’s the case manager in me that makes it simple, because it’s never that easy when the family need to do anything but talk about the options. I suggested that it might help her to consider the options if we visited some places, but Nana felt that it wouldn’t. It’s at lot easier to be pushy with clients or patients when decisions need to be made. Talking and talking and talking seems to not lead to a conclusion. But somehow, I’m missing the issues that mean the most to my family. I don’t understand how talking about the same things over and over again is helpful, but for them, it is. Despite understanding the sadness and emotion attached to all the forced change, I’m emotionally detached and I just want to solve the problem. Sounds like a description of a male!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Dragging my feet in the game of life?
My friend Anna recently became engaged to be married to a lovely man, and her twin Julie has just purchased her first home with her partner. Other friends I’ve seen since being home are now parents. It’s hard to avoid feeling like I’m somehow WAY behind the rest of my generation with so many friends getting married, buying homes, paying off their student loans and having children. Usually I start to think like that and then laugh at myself and move on. Sometimes I talk/whine/question with my dear (and very patient) friend Sarah about it and we both laugh a lot and then I feel much better. Sometimes I wonder whether I really want to have a house or kids, especially when it’s so great looking after friend’s kids, having all the fun and then giving them back when they cry or make a smell. I talk to aroha about it too and I occasionally get upset about the difference between where I’m at, and where my brain tells me I should be. But lately, I just feel so excited about all the things I have planned for the next year. It’s going to be professionally challenging and exciting. I expect that it will be so different from my current life that I feel as if I’m moving to another world. I will be a minority within a minority….and I don’t have to lose sleep over screaming kids, share the remote control or my bed, or change my clothes every 2h due to baby slobber. I can also sit in bed at 11pm on a Friday night typing without being rude ☺. I’m sure I’ll probably write more about this topic down the track, or maybe only in my offline version, but it’s nice to wind up the thought without going deeper than superficial and to complete it in less than a page.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
